At the confluence of clashing cultures

By Gargi Chakrabarty, Rocky Mountain News (Contact)

Wednesday, December 12, 2007

Photo by Matt McClain

Oil and gas workers, Michael Hoffpowier, left, and Brady Oncale drink beer at Love's RV outside of Meeker.

Workers flooding northwest Colorado to participate in the state's unprecedented natural gas boom are taking shelter where they can find it, and many are ending up in the convivial, home-on-wheels environment of RV parks.

The decked-out travel trailers and motor coaches are a far cry from the tent cities and shantytowns that marked earlier booms and labor migrations. Still, there is something evocative of those times in the gatherings of people who've come from across the map to establish makeshift communities of their own.

Even if the RVs parked shoulder-to- shoulder cost tens of thousands of dollars and their inhabitants are making big money out in the gas fields.

Workers detect unease

In places like Love's RV Park outside Meeker and Heron's Nest RV Park on the banks of the Colorado River off the Silt exit of Interstate 70, bonds have formed among gas workers and their families, mostly people from elsewhere, who often find mingling with local residents difficult.

Some gas workers detect unease - even downright antipathy - directed toward them and the trailer and RV parks that are burgeoning in Rio Blanco and Garfield counties. It is a sentiment not unlike that directed at previous generations of newcomers and their impromptu villages.

But unlike, say, the Dust Bowl-era arrival of farm workers in California, the economic shoe in this migration is on the other foot.

Doesn't matter, said Michael Hoffpowier, a Texan who moved with his wife and three young children into Love's RV Park (like Heron's Nest, an established business) at the beginning of this year.

"The people here have absolutely no use for us," Hoffpowier said. "But they were in poverty until we got here. It was totally dried up here, except for three months of hunting season.

"There was an ad in the paper here a month or two ago calling us 'oil field trash.' But the oil field trash is supporting this entire community."

Hoffpowier, 30, is a welder who works as a contractor for Enterprise, a big gas field resources company. His specialty is working on what is called the pig launcher and receiver, a device that is blown through pipelines to clear debris. "Running the pig," the operation is called.

Hoffpowier makes good money, has his family with him, and has the friendship and respect of fellow gas workers. But how he and his family are treated by longtime residents is galling to him.

"In my work, I've been around the United States, on jobs in Russia, Kosovo and the Caribbean. In some of those places, there are people who would just as soon kill you as look at you. But it was easier to deal with those folks than it is here. They pull stuff that is just hateful. It beats all I've ever seen."

Strong words, but Hoffpowier isn't backing down. He said he buys his welding supplies locally, even though it would be cheaper to have them shipped in. He's trying to get along, he said. Then he has another thought that irritates him.

"The local people don't like us because their own merchants have run their prices up to take advantage of us, and the locals are stuck with paying those prices - that is, where they don't have local discount cards.

"I mean, it's the greed and cynicism of the people making all the money off us and then hating us that gets me."

Hoffpowier recently moved his family out of their 40-foot Cedar Creek RV, a 2008 model that cost $89,000, and into a combination shop/residence where the kids will have plenty of space to play this winter.

He plans to work here through winter. Then he and his wife, Frances, will make a decision on what's next.

Bobby Gutierrez, editor of the Rio Blanco Herald Times and a lifelong resident of Rio Blanco County, said he doesn't see the strife between local residents and gas workers that Hoffpowier describes, although his paper had printed a letter from a pipeline worker upset at perceived disdain from locals.

"I don't know that it's tension . . . It's been boom and bust and boom, and things started happening pretty fast with a lot of people moving in," Gutierrez said. "Housing (prices) went up, rentals went up and I'm sure that upset locals.

"And it's difficult keeping employees. A lot of them are now working in the industry, leaving other businesses scrambling for employees."

He said having some of the world's largest corporations operating in the county continues to have enormous impacts.

"We are still working on accommodating those who are moving to the area," Gutierrez said. "It takes communication and cooperation from everyone, and I believe it is coming together."

Few affordable homes

"The biggest problem with RV parks is they pop up in places not zoned for it," said Rio Blanco County Commission Chairman Ken Parsons.

"You find people living in unincorporated parts of the county, moving in their trailers. They seldom or never go through the permitting process, and establish trailer parks or RV parks in residential zones, and even agricultural zones," Parsons said. "The neighbors don't appreciate it too much."

Parsons this summer told an interim committee of state lawmakers that a third of Rio Blanco's 4,000 to 5,000 transient workers live in RV parks.

Rifle Mayor Keith Lambert says the gas boom has brought 2,500 new residents to the city since 2000, but there are few affordable homes for them. The vacancy rate is less than 1 percent for rental homes and apartments.

Gas companies EnCana and Williams are setting up temporary "man camps" near drilling sites to help with the housing crunch.

A 3,100-square-foot man camp capable of housing and providing meals, laundry and other services to up to two-dozen workers costs the company about $3,000 per day, said EnCana Oil and Gas spokesman Doug Hock.

The boxy two-story trailers wouldn't appear to have much to offer, but the roughnecks who live inside praise the facilities for their warmth, cleanliness and sumptuous meals. Then there are the narrow beds, shared rooms and the no-family, no-alcohol policies.

"I don't hardly leave the camp unless I have to go to town to get Sprite, or maybe shampoo," said Mike Quintana, 46, who works for EnCana as a drilling consultant. He is on call round-the-clock two weeks each month, and spends days off with his family in Grand Junction.

The man camp follows wherever the rig goes, and is currently perched on a hillside in north Parachute.

The facility is free for crew members who work 12-hour shifts on the rig. Quintana said the man camp also puts up truck drivers, maintenance men or gas field workers stranded for the night, needing bed or food.

Most rig hands he knows work long shifts, have a meal, shower and go to bed, he said, and that is contrary to the reputation given to them for crowding bars and behaving badly.

EnCana's man camp provides four hot meals a day, including one at midnight for graveyard-shift workers. There's a large-screen TV and a DVD player.

"I have a little office in my room, with Internet connection via satellite," said Nathaniel Harding, a 26-year-old engineer in training who stays in the man camp a couple of weeks each month.

Harding and his wife live in uptown Denver and enjoy the urban lifestyle, but, when working on the rig, Harding said he prefers the man camp rather than a hotel in nearby Parachute or Rifle.

"I have the option to stay in a hotel but I don't want to do that," Harding said. "I have everything I need right here, I eat my veggies out here . . . I sure am thankful for it."

But the man camps aren't for families. So, towns in energy-producing areas are approving pricey new subdivisions and developments. Rifle alone OK'd 157 building permits through June of this year, compared with 106 all of last year and 46 in 2002, the boom's initial year.

Trouble with the law

Another dynamic that connects this boom to previous ones is workers with intense jobs and long hours rolling into the region's towns to blow off steam, occasionally landing in trouble with local law enforcement.

Ami Post knows this drill well, and seemed upbeat about his incarceration, joking with a reporter and counting the weeks until his time was up.

"My nickname is Stumpy, don't ask me why," he said with good humor, as he rolled up the sleeves of his black-and- white-striped jail-issue jumpsuit and flexed his tattooed biceps. His fellow inmates smiled at the display.

In early October, Post had been in the Garfield County Jail in Glenwood Springs for a couple of weeks. He was released at month's end.

"I was drunk, walking down the street with some marijuana," Post, 46, said of his arrest, the fourth since his arrival in Colorado gas country four years ago. "I resisted arrest."

Detention Sgt. Donnielle Pennington said, however, that Post had been charged with violation of a protection order. He was arrested again on the same charge Dec. 1 but was released the same day after posting $1,000 bond, she said.

Post admitted in the October interview to a methamphetamine habit, but said he had been clean for about a year.

Drug use figures elusive

There is much to be made anecdotally about meth being the drug of choice in the gas fields because it enables users to stay awake and alert for long stretches of time. And meth busts are up locally.

But it's policy among the big companies to test workers for illegal drugs, and the presence of meth in the fields is another measurement of the boom for which hard numbers are elusive.

Garfield County has added a new wing to its jail to accommodate meth addicts, one indication of the problem's extent.

Sheriff Lou Vallario estimates that 70 percent of all charges filed in the county can be linked to drug use, including check fraud, car theft, drunken driving and parole violations.

Jess Smith, Garfield County assistant manager, said energy companies are doing a lot to contain alcohol and drug abuse and that it would be inaccurate to hold gas workers solely responsible for the spike in drug-related crimes.

In addition to mandatory drug testing as a condition of employment, many energy companies conduct random tests and some bring drug-sniffing dogs to drilling sites. Drugs and alcohol are prohibited at company-operated man camps.

Joe, 46, another inmate at the jail who didn't want his last name used, said there are ways around the drug tests, even those conducted at random. Word gets out, he said, and workers borrow or even buy clean urine for the tests.

"I haven't seen such rampant use of drugs as I have in the gas fields here," said Joe, who constructs well pads. "It's a thousand times worse here."

A vagabond lifestyle

"Stumpy" Post talks directly about his problems with meth, saying he had used the drug for 10 years. It helped get him through his 12-hour shifts on the rigs, he said, sometimes for many days without a break.

"Meth turned me into something I am not," Post said. "I lost weight, got into bad relationships, lost my house."

Once in Colorado and off meth, he said he bought a $220,000 home in Parachute and got his driver's license back. Post said his 23-year-old daughter and her 3-year- old son live with him there, and have helped him get back to a more normal life, even though he keeps landing in jail.

"Rig workers earn good money, even if they are not educated, but I wouldn't recommend that lifestyle," Post said, recalling his vagabond existence at drilling sites in Nevada, New Mexico, Wyoming and Colorado.

"I'd tell young kids there is money in this job, but no future," he said.

Blowing off steam

Patrons poured into Rifle's Sports Corner Saloon on a fall Thursday night: Gas workers and hunky construction hands with money in their jeans, some with dates, some hoping to meet someone.

Thursday is payday and karaoke night, an alluring combination in these parts. The line to get in the Sports Corner is backed up down the sidewalk.

A young woman in skin-tight jeans made it to the door and gave Tom Green, who was checking IDs, a look. The look.

"Do I really need to show my ID," she asked, as if that might be a lot of trouble.

Green's look indicated he might make an exception, but then the woman found her driver's license and all was well.

Rifle police have become more vigilant, Green said, making unannounced visits to bars to check for underage drinkers.

They also show up to break up fights.

"We had a crazy night the other day," said Green, 30, who works from 8 p.m. until closing time, around 2 a.m. "Two guys started arguing over a girl. The fight spilled over to the pavement. It was a big chaos thing, and then the cops came and had to break it up."

Lambert, Rifle's mayor, said many gas workers may live in remote man camps, relieving the city's housing crunch, but they're major participants in the city's crowded bar scene.

"Every time a man camp comes, I ask one question: 'Are you going to have a liquor license,' " Lambert said. "The answer is no.

"So where would the work force go to blow steam and recreate? They come to our community, and all the issues come to our doorstep."

Rob Adams, standing outside the Sports Corner Saloon puffing a cigar, frowned at Green's story about the recent fight.

"Gas workers have a bad reputation: They fight, they get pulled over and cops find drugs on them, or they are drunk," he said. "But they don't get enough credit; they bring in a lot of money to this area."

A truck driver from California, Adams, 38, delivers sand and chemicals to the gas rigs. He has lived in Garfield County the past three years, earning nice money. He pulled in $119,000 last year and expects to top $180,000 this year.

Adams' job entails driving heavy trucks up narrow, steep roads to the drilling rigs, but he said he loves the thrill and the money.

While waiting for his turn at the door, a young woman came out to talk to Adams. A divorced father of three - his kids live in Texas and Ohio - he said he winds up at the bar most nights after his long shift.

Adams held out his wrist for Green to wrap with a plastic band signifying a valid ID and made his way to the loud, jammed bar.

"I lost my family over my traveling," he said. "Now I am a single man. I work seven days a week, don't take any break and like hanging out here after work. They have pretty girls."

Jarring changes

Bob and Judy Blaisdell moved from Texas to Bayfield, 20 miles east of Durango, earlier this year to live in the rolling hills framed by the majestic HD Mountains and the greater San Juan Range.

Their wooded backyard offers seclusion, their views grandeur.

Paradise found.

Until September that is, when the Blaisdells returned from a wedding to find a natural gas drilling rig operating a few hundred yards from their home, right next to their property line.

Bob Blaisdell said the lights and noise from the rig are worse when the sun goes down.

"There's this 10-story derrick all lit up," he said. "It lights up the valley."

Blaisdell said he had no say in where the rig was located because it's on his neighbor's property.

The Blaisdells have decided to stick it out. When the rig is gone from their neighborhood, they're bracing themselves for others and they're not happy about it.

Noise, odor and traffic are common complaints among people living close to drilling rigs or gas processing plants.

Loaded trucks making frequent trips on county roads to deliver chemicals, sand or equipment to rigs, or to collect produced water and condensate, are another disturbance.

"It can crank right next to you," said Mike Matheson, consulting geologist for La Plata County, referring to the rigs that run 24 hours a day, often for weeks at a time. "It's a big beast and (when it's drilling) it's a great time to go on a vacation."

Ditching school

It's hard to convince teenagers to stick to school when they could be earning $70,000 or $80,000 a year in the gas fields.

Tim Foster knows that. The president of Mesa State College in Grand Junction, who headed the Colorado Commission on Higher Education under Gov. Bill Owens, worries about the low graduation rates in northwest Colorado - the epicenter of the gas boom.

That the 14 counties in the region, together the size of West Virginia, have only one four-year public college and two community colleges doesn't help the situation.

Students often have to travel long distances to a college campus - a major deterrent, given that they have the lucrative option of working for the gas companies.

Last year, Mesa County's Plateau Valley School District 50 had a 23.7 percent graduation rate, the second worst in the state. The state average for graduating seniors that started with a given school district in the ninth grade was 74.1 percent.

"The five years before the boom settles down is five years of high school graduates who didn't go to college," Foster told state lawmakers this summer. "We will have a lot of people with no (college) education."

On a windy October morning, the 500 or so high school students streaming into the Garfield County Fairgrounds in Rifle seemed to underscore Foster's concerns.

They came in busloads from Parachute, Fruita and even Grand Junction, some sporting pierced noses and eyebrows and tattooed forearms. They made their way into a barn and to energy company booths.

The fairgrounds was hosting Energy Career Day - the second in as many years.

Caylee Kettle and her friends checked out a truck simulator set up at the far end of the barn. Kettle said she's familiar with heavy vehicles: Her father hauls sand to the gas fields.

The 17-year-old said nearly a fourth of her classmates at Parachute High School have dropped out to work in the gas industry.

But she plans to stay for a diploma.

"I would like to work in the gas fields, maybe forensics," she said, referring to industry-related careers in intellectual property, insurance defense, personal injury, accident investigation and litigation.

Gas companies certainly don't encourage students to drop out, said EnCana spokesman Hock, standing near the company's booth.

"The point that industry wants to show is, if you have more education, you could get better jobs," Hock said.

Rifle's new $12.5 million Colorado Mountain College campus - opened this fall - welcomes high school graduates as well as dropouts; it does not insist on students having high school diplomas. The two-year community college offers a number of courses related to the energy industry.

But even with those incentives, some are throwing up their hands.

Superintendent Gary Pack of Garfield County School District Re-2 said he is faced with losing teachers, bus drivers and maintenance workers because the district can't keep pace with gas industry wages.

He told state lawmakers this summer that Colorado has to allow school districts to benefit directly from the gas severance tax, and he urged an increase in the tax rates.

"There are a lot of needs here," Pack told legislators, as he fought back tears while describing his district's plight. "We're tapped out here. Let's get real about the future of our young people in Colorado."

Staff writer Burt Hubbard and photographer Matt McClain contributed to this report.